


Memories Paint These Walls

by CourtedByDeath



Category: Lucifer Box - Mark Gatiss, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtedByDeath/pseuds/CourtedByDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft discovers a set of old journals that have long been forgotten he realizes how history has a horrible habit of cycling and seeks to break it seeing as he doesn’t want to be damned to repeat the mistakes of his ancestor Lucifer Box. How can he convince Greg to give him a second chance? Will words from the distance past give them a different future?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories Paint These Walls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [narkgatiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/narkgatiss/gifts), [MD_Sora02](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MD_Sora02/gifts).



> God have mercy on me for this. If anyone is a bit out of character forgive me I did try. Since this is crossed-over with the Lucifer Box Novels tried to keep it in a similar style and tasteful (which is why there isn’t any porn). Though I will Never be Mark Gatiss and I sadly must accept this. I took a lot of liberties with a lot of things so indulge me a bit if you will. There’s a few shout outs and references to other fandoms tucked in there (some intentional others not) feel free to comment or message me about those. As with fan fiction, the characters and works referenced here are not owned by me this is all for fun and so on.
> 
> Dedication: For my beloved muse & wonderful better half - MD & and My lovely friend and sort of Beta - Jess/Curlyboff

 

 

  
_There’s something I think you need to see, Detective Inspector. Get in the car that’s waiting for you outside. -MH_

_What is it? -GL_

_Just come. It’s nothing so horrible as whatever you might be thinking. -MH_

Lestrade rolled his eyes with a sigh. This was getting old and he was getting rather put out with being whisked away in cars by that PA of Mycroft’s but who was he to go against the will of the British government? Thankfully it was after working hours - well the normal ones unless something extreme happened like a dead body or another something in that vein he’d be left alone. Loathe as he was to admit it he wanted to see Mycroft, he liked seeing him talking with him however briefly it might be and it had always been that way from the first time they met.

“Any idea what he’s on about this time?” He asked Anthea who was seated next to him, glancing down at her phone. Her crimson lips twisted up into an enigmatic smile. “It’s not my job to ask questions. He did say for you to enjoy the ride, Inspector. I was also instructed to tell you we’re not going anywhere you’ve never been before.” Which made the Yarder’s brows raise just lightly before he gave a soft sound of ‘hm…’

_Where am I going at least? -GL_

_I’ll give you a hint. You’ve been there twice. -MH_

_That really doesn’t narrow it down at all, Myc. So much for you being helpful even in the slightest bit. -GL_

_You’ll know it when you get here. Don’t worry so much. -MH_

_I’d find that easier to accept if I knew what you wanted to show me. -GL_

_It’s a bit of a recently uncovered secret I think you may be interested in. Something dating back nearly one hundred years, you need to see it. -MH_

_Why would something like that interest me? I’m not a historian, Myc. -GL_

_Oh believe me it will and to be honest I found it rather enlightening myself. - MH_

And once they arrived Greg’s breath caught. He knew this place - he’d been here twice and only twice. When he and Mycroft had been in Uni together and actually had been somewhat casually dating before Mycroft’s father had lost his mind over it. He had come again after finding a drugged up Sherlock wandering his crime scene. Something in the back of his mind was screeching that he should be here NOT here, to demand the car be turned around or maybe even open the door and just let himself roll out.

The tongue lashing from the late-Mr. Holmes the complete dissolving of his and Mycroft’s relationship without so much as an apology - just that instant loss of contact. Couple that with the painfully awkward reunion of him showing up on the doorstep, breaking the law, risking his job holding and writhing and strung out Sherlock - well it made it obvious why he started fidgeting with his phone, his shirt, his coat; anything he could get his hands on.

Anthea watched him with amusement those movements becoming almost frantic when they pulled up to the door of the rather old and stately looking home. “That’s no need to panic, Inspector. It’s just a building.” She was silenced however by the rather pointed glare he gave her as she opened the car door sliding out. “I’ll see you inside to the study.”

He hesitated in getting out of the car. He stared up at the house, an echo of a bygone era truly; well cared for while it had been modernized it still maintained all of its old world charm. Once he exited the car he seemed to find himself again, straightening up and calming. “No, that’s fine just let me in. My feet already know the way.”

A dark brow rose at that but she walked to the door and after a moment or two, she opened the door motioning Lestrade inside. Once he passed her she drew the door closed again locking it before returning to the car. Not for the first time she questioned her employer’s fondness for the Yarder, not that he wasn’t a good man or attractive but there seemed to be a few piece missing from her puzzle.

There was something final about the way Anthea closed and locked the door behind him. He took a couple deep breaths before moving along the foyer, eyes scanning the familiar décor. His gaze stopped as it always did on a painting in vibrant blues and greens, with shocks of gold and aqua, a sky a nightscape but there was a strangeness to it given by the placement of the stars the odd way they formed what looked to him to be four letters - of course he was certain this was just his mind grasping at straws.

He continued on finding the study, the one he and Mycroft had been in when they’d been discovered. He stilled in the doorway hanging back, immobilized either by memories or the sight of Mycroft. He didn’t know, but his chest seemed to seize and breathing seemed to become a bit of a chore.

Mycroft stood behind the desk his tie undone, suit coat abandoned to the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows - A rather old box bearing the letters LB was before him the top removed. “Gregory, how nice of you to join me.” He smiled at the DI motioning to the chair across from him. “Should we skip the formal pleasantries?”

Greg could only nod mutely as he drank in the sight of the elder Holmes, the dark brown of his suit, the rich blue of his shirt. If there was one thing to be said of Mycroft it was that the man knew what suited him and could dress. “Might be a good idea since I have a feeling this isn’t exactly a social call.” He folded himself into the chair, feeling still a bit on edge and once again like he didn’t belong here.

Looking about the room’s four walls it was as if he could hear the echoes of the past, the heated exchange of how No son of the Holmes family was going to be gay and how no no-name trainee from New Scotland Yard was ever going to be worth the street he walked on. With a grimace, Greg pulled himself into the present with a shake of his head.

Mycroft knew too well where Gregory’s mind had gone so he left him be for a moment, taking books from the box. He too recalled that conversation with startling clarity as if it had happened mere hours ago rather than years. He recalled Gregory’s fierce defense that Mycroft deserved to be happy, to be his own man and not bound by the whims and wants of others. Mycroft had often wished he had been as willing to defend himself, his happiness. The shame he felt for not standing up for what he and Gregory had had turned into bitterness and guilt. “It’s a more personal matter in truth. Did you know that our families were rather close?”

‘Your father certainly hadn’t acted like it.’ The younger man thought bitterly but he leaned forward in his seat arching a brow. “Is that so? How did you come about this information?” He’d never given much thought to tracking his family through the ages and anything he might have found about the Holmes was rather bland and he’s certain white washed into the proper and respected family image.

“Oh yes.” Mycroft held up three worn leather-bound books. “It’s right here in Lucifer’s journal. I did a fair bit of research on my own to confirm of course but he kept notes about a certain man named Charlie Jackpot. I’m certain the name Charlie is familiar to you isn’t?”

Greg’s breath caught and he nodded again. “Hold on, you really had an ancestor named Lucifer?” Suddenly Sherlock making a joke about Mycroft being the devil took on another meaning entirely. Especially when Mycroft smiled that smile, a smile that was so heart-stoppingly familiar; a smile that strangely the first instant he’d seen it made him feel as if he’d seen it before, in another life.

“Of course, it’s family name. He had a sister named Pandora but that is beside the point. It would seem that Lucifer and Charlie were rather intimately associated and I do mean that in the way it implies.” He circled the desk offering the books to Gregory. “I thought perhaps you might want to know a bit – or I might summarize it for you if you wish.”

Reaching to take the books, he licked at his lips – something about this struck him at his very core and pinned him to the spot. He opened one of the books glancing down at the worn pages, yellowed and brittle with age, the ink of the elegant writing a bit faded. He felt drawn, compelled to read these words. “Are you certain it’s alright for me to have these?” Brown eyes sought out those of the elder man, searching. “Yes. Please. I’d like to know a bit before I read these.”

Mycroft had to wonder what it was that Gregory was looking for in his face, but he seemed to have found it for he relaxed a bit into the chair. “It’s no longer a matter of national security since that exact service has become obsolete as of ten years ago… mostly. Lucifer’s journals involving sensitive things have been handled by the proper people. These are deemed rather harmless and released back into my hands.”

He sighed and leaned against his desk, reaching back gripping the polished surface. “Lucifer Box was an agent of the crown, as has my family been for well as far back as I can trace beyond the 1800’s. The last name has changed often obviously for many reasons. At any rate on one of his adventures he met a rather dashing and charming young man named Charlie Jackpot. Suffice it to say they came to something of an arrangement and spent time together as a team, not unlike a certain army doctor and consulting detective. Of course, they quickly became rather more than a team – something a bit deeper.”

Greg nodded swallowing. If this was true then why was it so hard for Mr. Holmes to accept that Mycroft was with someone like him? Granted, he wasn’t much of anything special, nothing remarkable but… “You’re saying they were lovers. They cared for one another.”

“Yes, and again yes, deeply. Lucifer was devastated when he thought that Charlie had died. It seems that he like you had an uncanny ability to survive things that would kill men with less luck than you. Life goes on but they kept in touch; separate lives but another with each other.” He rather wished he was that brave, to have had a life like Lucifer, to have fought for _them_. “Again this isn’t why we’re here – well not the sole reason.”

The DI’s throat tightened slightly and his gaze flicked - before he could stop himself - to the worn band on Mycroft’s finger. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to think about it. Tearing his eyes away from the band of gold he cleared his throat standing, the journals clutched to his chest. “My mind hasn’t changed. I’m not ready to think about it again.” Even if it was well past the time they’d agreed on. “There isn’t any point in talking about something that won’t happen, Myc.” The only person he wanted was standing just across the way from him and yet that small distance felt like they were as distanced as stars.

His eyes avoided Mycroft even if the elder Holmes was watching him with such intensity he could feel it making his skin prickle. “I’ll take these down into the sitting room to read. I’m sure that will be fine don’t worry about me I can find my way around and to anything I need.” Gregory turned on his heel and fled the room not running but everything in him was urging him to just take off and never look back.

Mycroft let him, lips pressed together in a firm line. There were times he wished he was as bold as his fabled ancestor, Lucifer or even Sherlock at this point. But those skills he had picked up in the service weren’t something he wanted to use on Gregory. This was Gregory Lestrade, not some spy or targeted counter-intelligence agent. This was the man he loved; the only man. Fingers toyed with the gold band twisting it to and fro before he moved from the study to his home office. He could forget about this and press on with some work - it wasn’t pressing but he needed the distraction.

Sinking into the plush chair, Greg cracked open the top book resting the others on his lap. The leather creaked slightly and the pages were discolored with age and a bit brittle, the ink a bit faded but that was fine. He could manage. It was the fact that the writing looked so similar to Mycroft’s that made him pause.

_‘Let us begin with the beginning - a proper introduction; for while I write this for myself there’s no telling where these pages may find themselves. My name is Lucifer Box and I am but a humble servant to the crown….’_

He even sounded like Mycroft. Against his will a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he settled in to read for the next few hours.

\------

_‘And with all of this the time has come to say my farewells. I have some hope that in some fashion that Charlie and I will meet again in the here-after. -LB’_

The book ended there and Lestrade stared at it, swallowing thickly. Without meaning to he stood the books tumbling to the rug, he found himself bursting into the office, panting softly. “Did they-“

“Absolutely, in fact, they buried together in Italy. They wanted it that way – going back to the start.” Mycroft answered not missing a beat as he came up from his chair. Obviously, Gregory was struggling with emotions – he had been much the same the first time he stumbled upon the journals. “It’s only right after all.”

His heart was pounding in his chest and he stepped out from behind the desk crossing the room to Greg’s side. Reaching out he cupped a hand to his cheek, a soothing gentle caress – an action he’d been aching to take every time he’d seen the DI since their university days. “Breathe deeply and calm yourself. Just because a story ends doesn’t mean it has to be a bad ending. Some other time another place they’re together, I know that much at least. We can’t be upset by that can we?”

Greg seemed to relax at that his hand coming up to hold the politician’s in place. “No, but I don’t want the past repeating itself.” He can feel the slightly warm band of metal under his hand, acutely aware of its presence against his flesh. “We’re not doing this again. Do you understand?” For a moment he’s not sure if he’s speaking for himself or for Charlie – but it doesn’t matter.

In this one thing they’re both one and the same. Both in love with someone who lives on secrets, manipulations; that works and does things that most people will never ever even hear of and that’s fine. Lestrade had long since accepted this fact ever since meeting Mycroft again once Sherlock had started meddling with his cases when he’d been just making his way at the Yard. In fact, the DI’s almost certain that Mycroft had something to do with how quickly he’d found himself in his current position.

Mycroft didn’t even bother feigning ignorance when Greg spoke. There was a spark that flared to life behind his eyes, the cooling embers of fragile hope that had been in his chest turning into a scorching tongue of fire filling him up with a warm that he was sure radiated. He’d been so cold for so long he couldn’t recall what it was like to be something more than the Ice Man; though it wasn’t exactly the truth either, to be once again a man of flesh, blood and a beating heart.

His training in the service and his time as an operative of the crown had etched into him that caring, feeling and being human was dangerous. That it was a deadly disadvantage that got one needlessly killed. It hadn’t been until he saw Lestrade again and Sherlock with John that he began to understand. Anything that was worth having came with the risk of pain. It had hurt him deeply the first time he’d lost Greg and that was because Greg was important. Important to him on a level that at the time he couldn’t possibly have understood but not important enough that he would defy his father and fight for him. It was something he’d always regretted.

“If I could do it all over again, love, I would have never let you out of my sight for an instant. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do to make all of this up to you I’ll do it. I’ll do it as long as you stay.” His throat constricted and his voice took on a softer pleading tone; only Lestrade could bring the head of the British government to his knees with just something as easy as breathing. “Tell me you’ll stay. I don’t care what might happen in the future. I’m sorry. I’m sorry - I let fear get in the way of what should have been our future.”

“Myc, do shut up.” And then he made him do just that pulling Mycroft tight against him a hand fisted in the starched linen of his shirt as he leaned in capturing those lips and silencing that silver tongue. The words were nice and they were needed but they could wait. Lestrade had always been a man of action and very rarely was he subtle about what he wanted; normally rushing in with little care to the point of recklessness. He took that mouth as his, reclaiming Mycroft with a searing kiss.

Mycroft’s words died with a muffled sound that might have been a protest or a moan; there was no way to know. He came forward pressing flush against Greg’s frame his hands leaving his face to come down and rest on his hips and he returned the kiss. Lips parted and teeth bite and nipped, tongues tangled and caressed, exploring; their mouths meshed together came apart only to come back together again, soft pants spilling free intermixing with other soft needy sounds.

Breaking away a second, perhaps it was the third or fourth time neither could recall all that clearly they remained wrapped about each other in a tight embrace; warm breath mingling fanning against flushed skin and sensitive kiss swollen lips. The DI was the one to break the silent spell around them, taking one of Mycroft’s hands in his own, “Come on.”

A brow arched and his head tilted, there was a flicker of confusion on his face as he interlocked fingers with Greg. His mind was a swirling mess and the emotions surging through him weren’t helping in the least. “Where are we going?” Not that it mattered; at this point he knew he’d follow the other to the gates of hell if needed.

The cocky little smirk that played over his lover’s face made his heart lurch and then race – he never knew he could miss a facial expression before. He knew that feeling now. He had missed seeing this side of the younger man, seeing him so almost like that boy he’d known so long ago back when they had first given each other their everything. Mycroft understood now, everything had happened for a reason as if it was part of some divine ineffable plan.

“To your lair, my darling devil.”

The words made a low chuckle bubble up and a smug smile tug at his lips, one worthy of his devilish namesake. “It’s safe to call it ours now I think. My, well aren’t we feeling bold and full of swagger, angel.” Though he had to admit, Greg had every right to strut and a bit of arrogance. Once they reached the bedroom, Mycroft was a bit surprised when found himself pulled down to straddle Greg’s lap, his hands gripping the other’s shoulders.

“There now, isn’t this better?”

“A bit but I’m certain we can do a good deal better don’t you think?” Those were the last words to come from the room at least the last words that related to anything other than the removal of clothes, the brush of skin on skin, the biting of teeth and scraping of nails. There were muffled then not so muffled cries, pleas; even broking screams, mingling with unintelligible harsh sounds and panting.

\----------  
 **  
From the private journal of M. L. Holmes:**

_It seems a second chance is all we needed. It’s been one day shy of a year since that night. I’ve made arrangements for us to have the next couple of days away from work to spend at The Ritz. Staying home wouldn’t have done any good so a couple nights at The Ritz in the Berkeley Suite seems absolutely perfect since it’s my year to make the plans – next year no doubt we’ll go somewhere out in the countryside which is fine by me._

**From the private journal of G. C. Lestrade:**

_Mycroft’s managed to coax me into full formal wear. He’s lucky I love him. I’m not fond of all these layers and I loathe ties seeing as I can never make them look like their supposed to. I know he thinks he’s got everything planned tonight but I have a bit of a surprise to spring on him. Let’s just say I’m replacing that worn old band on his finger with something newer and this time it will be on the proper finger. I can’t wait to see his face._


End file.
